


Fluorescent Autumn

by AlexNow



Series: Autumn [1]
Category: All Time Low, Black Veil Brides, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Of Mice & Men (Band), Panic! at the Disco, Paramore, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Graphic Description, High School AU, I haven't made up my mind yet, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Multiple Pairings, Or all, References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Sex, Violence, multibandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexNow/pseuds/AlexNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><span class="small"><i>It all started with a simple push.</i></span><br/>-<br/><span class="small">All in all, this story follows the complications that come in the way of each of your favorite pairings.</span></p><p>
  <b>-ON HIATUS-</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fluorescent Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> I just find it necessary to specify how many of these people’s birthdays are **not** the same as in the world we live in, or are their ages, obviously. This is all completely fake, except for the characters and so that means that in this particular story some people are older/younger than other people, in which they are not in the real world.  
>  I don’t own these people, sadly, and this is all just made up by a fringe of my imagination.  
>  ***** The story begins with Andy Biersack, not another Andy. Andy Hurley (or maybe other Andys’) will barely be mentioned so, yes. **Don’t confuse yourself with other bands.**  
>  (Some events are references of interviews, much like Andy’s comments from the interview to AP magazine. So if you see something familiar, you know where to look.)  
> Sorry for such notes but it’s necessary that you read all of this. The (hopefully) last note is that all these events with each character do not take place at the same time. Don’t confuse yourself if you see (for example) Jon talking to someone one moment and then in the next scene his talking to someone else. They are a bit apart, say, by hours? Sometimes days, the time doesn’t matter (sometimes what I write is the same situation as one person but another perspective, or it also can be going backward; for example, Loki is in Asgard and analyzing something –very eloquent- before killing someone, making Odin call for Thor and then in another scene Thor receives the call; sort of the same thing, it’s just about going a bit backwards into the plot) as long as you understand that **the whole first part of the story takes place in summer vacation just before school.**  
>   
>  _Thank you for your attention and, please, try your best to enjoy this. I tried. Do not forget to give me your point of view._  
>   
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank my awesome, inspirational and lovely beta, Anna. She and I have been working for a very short period of time (Only this fic) and she's been very helpful. Thank you!  
> You can all find her on [tumblr](http://www.rawrannarawr.tumblr.com):   
> Go ahead and follow her :D  
> -Alex

It all started with a simple push, nothing more, really. It was just the minor, cruel action that caused him to tumble uselessly against the cold metal of the green lockers, the force against his back catching him by surprise and managing to make his forehead knock against it and his nose to awkwardly curve against the unwelcome cold.

It really should not be a revelation anymore as to these actions which he has suffered ever since he stepped foot into school. It still affects him, though, however, he’d say more physically than mentally. It’s his skin scarring from the bruises and rough punches, not his mind.

Andy shoots a glare over his shoulder at the teenagers who snorted at his impact against the object, sniggering and clapping their hands together before punching the air. Andy curls his lips into a thin frown as he hears them yell in enthusiasm, in passion and dedication in them to seeing him suffer on a daily basis. They may be older, but it is obvious that they are not yet mature.

It is because of this that Andy holds his head high. It’s rather pathetic, really, seeing their vacant minds finding enjoyment in Andy, giving him their attention. They believe all there is in life is feeling superior, and this time Andy feels amused and merely raises an eyebrow into the air while having his face concealed into his locker. He finds it relatively comforting to know he has, until now, managed to grow a wider state of mind, faster than those who have more life experience.

His delight is cut short though, and, frozen into place, he sets eyes on a balled up piece of paper deep in his locker, barely able to be seen behind his stacks of textbook. The amusement slowly fades away and he warily eyes the offensive paper before carefully reaching over and pulling slightly, enough to set it free and Andy subconsciously, angrily, starts turning his hand into a fist, making it ball up tighter.

He manages to snap back into reality, though, and he cautiously opens the paper up, knowing what waits from him inside. He found the sheet of paper taped onto his locker only yesterday, and to ball it up angrily and throw it deep into his locker was the first thing that came to mind. When he finally manages to open it, it still has ‘FAG’ messily written inside, wrinkled from the creases on the sheet of paper, and he sighs. He didn’t know what he had expected.

 

-

 

“Ryan, you utter asshole!” Spencer’s voice yells from upstairs, his voice barely even reaching the older boy’s ears. Ryan doesn’t respond though, and continues reading through one of Mrs. Smith’s books that she left on the coffee table before she left for work.

The sound of feet hastily coming down the stairs is familiar to Ryan’s ears, and he doesn’t look up, nor does he stop reading as the sounds stop a few feet away. He’s fully aware of the presence of someone standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ryan Ross, you better fucking tell me where it is, or I swear I’ll hang you with your own scarf.” Spencer seethes, his eyebrows sternly knitted together as they form part of a glare sent across the room towards the taller, long-limbed boy.

“Go ahead,” Ryan deadpans blankly, “You won’t find it either way.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow further, and Ryan holds back a yawn as he changes the page, slightly moving his legs closer to his chest to snuggle into the blanket placed on his knees even more. He doesn’t acknowledge the other with any more but that response, knowing his reactions will only cause irritation (and possibly the promised death).

“If you put it into my mom’s underwear drawer—” Spencer begins to warn as he nears the couch and the body in the form of a lump on it, only to be cut off by a roll of auburn eyes and the slam of a book.

“That would have been too easy.” Ryan replies, wordlessly placing the book back on the coffee table, making sure he puts down Mrs. Smith’s bookmark where she had last left it. Spencer opens his mouth to argue, but Ryan beats him to it once again as he moves to sit, only taking the warm blanket off for a moment to shift it with him.

“And you know you deserve it.” He finishes, and Spencer has the opportunity to yell once again. Ryan doesn’t react to Spencer’s foul language, and he doesn’t show any sign of finding it hostile. It is Spencer, though.

“What have I done?!” He demands, and Ryan gives him an unimpressed look.

“Must I remind you of that little date you set up for me, one I was not interested in?” Ryan asks, and he moves his legs to cross them, making a corner of the mantle fold up under his knee. Spencer snorts and forcefully throws himself onto the couch beside Ryan.

“It was only fair.”

“I don’t see how.”

“He likes you, Ryan.”

“And do my ideas of him count so little?” Ryan responds back instantly, barely sparing Spencer a glance. Spencer groans, exasperated. He flashes Ryan a murderous glare and at one point Ryan thinks he sees Spencer’s fists curling into fists, something he has only seen movie characters do in anger.

“You could at least give him a try, Ryan! Brendon has had a crush on you from before I even talked to him. For fuck’s sake, Ross, he drew you when we were in third grade! When will you ever get that attention from someone again? You always blow people off, and so far Brendon’s crush is the only one who has survived.” Spencer is frustrated, that much is obvious. He tries too hard to help Ryan put his past out of his mind and move on into something as “useless” as a relationship. He can’t seem to understand Ryan’s house life isn’t something he can just forget.

“I don’t like him, Spencer.” Ryan’s teeth clench and he tries his best to control his patience, knowing arguing with Spencer never leads up to anything good. Spencer snorts.

“What are you? Asexual? What is there not to like about Brendon, Ryan? You could give him a fucking chance and give him a call saying yes for this Saturday! Two more days, Ryan. Two days until I have to call Brendon myself and tell him it was all a fucking scheme of mine and that you never fucking cared!” Spencer yells, and now he’s standing up in front of Ryan, glowering down at him, the only moment in which Spencer will tower over him.

“He’s annoying, acts as if he’s high all the time, and he talks too much. I don’t like him, and I’ve never talked to him because, for one, he’s not in my grade and it’s summer, Spencer. I have no reason to want to spend it with a kid.” Ryan hisses through his teeth menacingly, and looks up angrily at Spencer from under his eyebrows, “You were the one who made the story up, and now you fucking fix it. And for the last time, Spencer Smith, I. Am not. Gay.”

Spencer’s eyes clear for a moment and the blue of them reflect glassily the light of the kitchen lamp before he focuses on Ryan again, who had never stopped glaring at him with much more hate than what someone could give their best friend of childhood.

“You can’t keep lying to yourself, Ryan.” He whispers, almost in apology (something Ryan would cherish in any other situation, considering the lack of vulnerability on Spencer’s part for most of their life).

Ryan snorts and throws the blanket off, ignoring the chills that had started to creep up his legs, despite the warm, summer weather outside. He moves swiftly towards the door, throwing it open and Spencer doesn’t try to stop him.

“I’m doing the kid a favor here, Spence.” Ryan says, pausing only for a moment, “Thank me. All you’re doing is using Brendon’s silly crush against him, and fooling him into wasting his time with me.”

Spencer moves to make breakfast after Ryan has slammed the door closed, and quietly eats, trying not to think on how Ryan didn’t eat before leaving. Spencer ignores how Ryan will only grow thinner than what he already is, considering he doesn’t have any money and going to his house to eat isn’t an option.

He glances at the clock behind the refrigerator and sees it’s the most quiet hour of the day, especially when it’s summer vacation. He imagines Ryan sitting under a tree on a bench, with his hands shoved into his jacket’s pockets and he can’t help but sigh. Well, there goes any chance of Spencer ever getting his signed poster back.

 

-

 

Gabe manages to open his eyes as he hears the shower start in the other room. He squints for a moment, and curses to himself as he throws his arm over his eyes after he notices the sunlight streaming through the window, assaulting him.

A melodic song almost lulls him back to sleep, the soft words swiftly entering in one ear and exiting out the other, until the shower stops and Gabe’s bathroom door is thrown open. He groans once more and the steam melts across his face, something quite unwelcome considering the day’s already hot because, come on, it’s summer.

Gabe decides, hey, it’s his house anyway, and his room, so he pushes the covers off his stomach and lets them slide off his bed until his bed is completely stripped, sparing the pillows. His entire body still lacks a single garment, and he seems oblivious of the embarrassment anyone else would feel.

William rolls his eyes at the sight of the other, the towel wrapped around his waist falling to the ground. He steps out of it and walks towards his clothes that are strewn around the room, picking them one by one and keeping his back to Gabe. In the meantime, Gabe peeks from under his arm and slowly trails his eyes up to the back of William’s head, then slowly falling back down, taking in every detail. He tilts his head slightly to try and get a good look at the front of William before he puts any underwear on.

“Save it, Gabe,” William says flatly, without turning around, “I have to go.”

Gabe pauses and looks up, seeing that William has angled his head for Gabe to catch the younger boy’s eye. William ignores him and slips on his pants next. Gabe scoffs.

“Might as well, and do it fast. My parents might get home soon, and I sure as fuck am not going to explain to them what fucking really is.” He snaps, and throws his arm over his face once again. William frowns, glancing at Gabe. Once he sees the dark-haired boy ignoring him and choosing to fall asleep once again like that, without anything covering him, he exits the door.

William is careful to close the door behind him, and slowly walks down the stairs, as if afraid to wake someone up, even though he is sure no one else is home. That’s the reason Gabe called him yesterday. William has his sneakers in hand and his socks are already on. After seeing Gabe dismiss him, he didn’t wait to patently put them on. He waits until he’s in the living room, then he pauses to cover his feet, and walks out the front door. He knows it’s a long walk back to his house, but right now, asking Gabe for a ride isn’t an option.

 _“Kicked you out again?”_ William doesn’t know if the fact that the voice is welcome, makes those cruel words give him the same sense. He grimaces and kicks a pebble that rests on the sidewalk, moving carefully under the shadows of the nearby trees to stop himself from having to narrow his eyes from the sunlight (but yet, the other’s voice is making him squint anyway).

The phone in his hand is growing too hot to bear and he inches it away from his ear, using it as an excuse to not have to listen to Adam’s voice clearly and missing a couple words.

“Whatever, can you pick me up?” He mutters, and he looks over his shoulder towards Gabe’s house that is slowly growing smaller. Adam’s sighs loudly,

_“Right. Where are you?”_

“Same street. I’ll meet you at the intersection.”

It takes a while for Adam to respond, but William can hear his breathing. After a few seconds of hearing nothing from the other end, William curiously presses his phone against his ear once again. Adam still doesn’t respond and William grows frustrated,

_“You can’t expect this to keep happening, Bill.”_

“What?!” William explodes, and he thinks he awakens the families of the houses he passes by, “What to keep happening, Adam? The fucks? Because you fucking know, there’s not much I can do about that,”

_“No one’s forcing you to. Saporta said it himself. If you wanted to stop, you’d be welcome to. You can’t afford being treated like—”_

Adam suddenly quiets, and William purses his lips, knowing exactly what Adam was about to compare him to,

“Like what, Adam? Please, enlighten me,” William questions in a bitter tone, challenging his friend to tell him.

When Adam once again fails to respond he keeps on walking and grits his teeth as he nears the intersection of the street.

“Thank you, Adam, seriously, but I think I’ll walk.” He doesn’t let Adam respond before he hangs up.

_Like a whore._

 

-

 

Breakfast is filled with silence, otherwise known as parental disappointment. Don Way is searching through the newspaper and pursing his lips at the news of the most recent assassin known in the city, something he never does (read the newspaper, that is) and Donna is quietly offering him a cup of coffee, which he nods to and grumbles a “thank you” under his breath.

Gerard is forced to feel shameful as he ignores his family, sipping his cup of coffee and hiding his face constantly behind the mug. He doesn’t want his parents to feel more distress at even just seeing the boy’s face.

And as for his brother, though he-usually-always received Mikey’s forgiveness in a matter of days, Gerard knows it won’t be easy this time. The younger Way sibling had hurriedly told their mother he was going out with a friend to eat, and quickly grabbed a jacket. On his way to the front door he harshly bumped his shoulder against Gerard’s, but the worst of all was how he didn’t do it out of anger, but simply because he forgot there was a person standing there and chose to try and pass through without acknowledging the other.

Donna had given her eldest son a simple look, implying “you deserved that”, and Gerard mumbles under his breath, drinks more coffee and refuses to say out loud that, yes, he knows.

He spends the rest of the day up in his room sketching out new characters he’s had in his head for weeks, balling them up and flicking them off his desk. The ring left on the table from his coffee cup somehow manages to touch the tip of his sketch book and the paper absorbs it, ruining his whole drawing.

He sighs and forces himself to stay still until he calms down. The Gerard of before would have screamed bloody murder and stomped down the stairs, yelling to his parents in response of their questions how his life sucked, and would have left to return at two in the morning the next day.

This Gerard closes his eyes and wishes he could close his door to open his window and just yell the most incoherent words. Though he knows that if he even attempts at closing the door he’ll end up in some deep trouble, considering last month’s occurrence. If he ever gains his parents’ trust again it won’t be anytime soon.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the back of his chair, ignores the thoughts of how cocaine would have calmed him down in seconds.

 

-

Kellin Quinn is bored.

It’s never a good idea, to have him without anything to do. It always ends up in him making up an compulsive plan to exterminate his tedious boredom and, sometimes, people get hurt.

He could always go out and get drunk, maybe hook up with some girl and return later smelling of alcohol, sex and smoke, but he isn’t in the mood for another talk. He would do anything to avoid another talk.

Kellin does drugs? Fantastic! He skips school? Perfect! He gets drunk? No problem! What about has sex with people he has never met before? Whatever.

Then, out of nowhere, his parents start noticing that they don’t even know what their son does. And so, when Kellin arrives home at four in the morning, he goes from laughing to himself and stumbling across the carpet to seeing his parents in the living room with angry expressions on their faces.

They question him, his father yells at him after smelling the alcohol on him, and his mother cries as she notices the hickey’s on his neck. Kellin recalls wanting to remind his mother that he’s sixteen and he’s had relationships for a while now. He isn’t twelve anymore.

All he did was snort, tell them to get on with their lives, stay out of his as they had before, and slammed the door behind himself as he went into his room. Shall we just say that, the next morning was very awkward? Watching Mr. Quinn talk about protection and reprimanding him for making his mother cry, trying to make his son go through a guilt trip. Kellin had just laughed right in his face and shaken his head.

“Why care now?” He had asked. Never in his life had he seen his father at such loss of words.

 

-

 

“He’s not getting any better,” Mikey mutters as he tips his cup towards him, taking the straw between his teeth and sipping, “He’s going to fall into it again, and this time he won’t be able to make it up.”

Pete watches his friend and shrugs, a wry smile falling onto his lips as he drinks from his own cup, “Pete” etched across the plastic in playful handwriting. He notices the words 'suck on your dick' next to his name and he smiles, taking another drink.

“You don’t know that, Mikes,” Pete responds and watches at Mikey pauses and looks up to him, annoyed, “He could be trying this time.”

“He always is, isn’t he? He’s always trying his best, and it’s not until mom and dad notice, that he actually cares. If it weren’t for their threat of sending him to rehab, then he never would have cared.” Mikey’s voice is engraved in sarcasm, the vile tone dripping with anger as his hand dangerously closes around his cup and the light brown coffee slowly pushes itself up his straw. Pete eyes it warily,

“You know he cares, Mikey.”

“Does he?”

Pete purses his lips and glances at the counter where Jon continues working, a dark red cloth in his hand as he swipes across the surface of the counter, dabbing off the drink someone managed to spill all over his work area. Jon seems to feel the gaze and he glances up, seeing Pete and beaming before giving a short carefree wave, that lazy grin covering his face. Pete smiles back and flicks his hand in a short hello in response.

“You make things difficult, Mikey. He isn’t doing it for himself. Gerard isn’t at all stupid. He knows what he’s caused in the family and he’s trying to make it right.”

“How do you know that?”

Pete glances at him and smiles, and Mikey distantly notices how Pete’s smile seems tired and worn-out from what he has to deal with on a daily basis. Himself. And Pete, he says, “It’s Gerard, and you’re Mikey. His baby brother. And you know that he’s done the impossible to make you happy before, dude. He’d never get tired of trying to do it again.”

Mikey doesn’t reply, and as always, Pete can’t read the expression on his face. He drinks the rest of his coffee, not stopping for a minute as he gulps it down. Pete is not patient. He never will be, cause it just wasn’t born in him. A simple silence is enough to get him aggravated and he is always one to break it with the most stupid statement. But when it’s about Mikey Way and his drug addict older brother, Pete would do miracles to give Mikey silence.

He waits, and they drink their coffee in silence. Mikey’s eyes, from behind his glasses, never look in Pete direction after and he instead gazes out the window. Pete chews on the inside of their cheek and stares at his friend. Mikey’s lips are slowly turning into a permanent frown, he notices. He doesn’t want that for him, and he finds himself uneasy at the idea of seeing much less of the smile which he has had trouble trying to force out of the younger Way brother.

“So, how are things going on with Patrick?” Mikey asks suddenly, and Pete immediately stops sipping. He glances up, and when his eyes connect with Mikey, he immediately looks down.

“Fine. Could be better but fine.” He says, and shrugs helplessly. When Pete’s mouth can’t stop babbling, it’s annoying and it gets on his nerves, but right now Mikey finds it odd, and he raises an eyebrow at his friend. Pete glances at him, and seeing the expression, sighs.

“I haven’t talked to him since last time. I haven’t talked to him all summer.” Pete admits gloomily, barely a mutter, but Mikey always listens and understands.

“Since the last day of school.” Mikey states, and Pete nods, but doesn’t look up again.

“Yeah. But it’s not as if I could change that. He’s out on vacation to Chicago to see his grandparents.” He says bluntly, and he could almost hear how Mikey opens his mouth to point out what Pete already knows.

In that moment, Pete feels a presence near, and a figure pulls out a chair and sits near them, stopping Mikey from commenting, and Pete feels as if he has fallen in love with Jon Walker already.

“Hey, Jon.” Pete says, and his drained expression isn’t hidden easily with a grin, but he’s done this many times, he’s perfected it. Jon smiles back, and he grins at Mikey. Mikey doesn’t respond and stares at Pete, who avoids his gaze.

“How are you?” Pete continues, and when Mikey notices the black haired boy ignoring him, he sighs in defeat.

 

-

 

When Alex opens his eyes, he notices the smell of something. Wait, no. He smells something and then he opens his eyes. It was the beautiful smell that managed to get him out a bed (a difficult task) and he blindly looks for his sandals. When he does find them, he furiously kicks his foot at it to try and get it on. In the process, he manages to kick one of the legs of his bed and he curses, his hands falling from rubbing his eyes.

He glares at the offending furniture, and mumbles under his breath as he patiently and carefully slips his foot into his sandal, and then does the same with the other. His eyes are still weary, but he forces them open, and widens them for a second to blink back the drowsiness. He opens the door to his bedroom, bringing his other hand up and ruffling his own hair as he walks down the stairs.

“Honey, do you want breakfast?” The voice comes from the kitchen in a sickly sweet tone, from where the delicious smell wafts out from, and Alex’s mouth waters as he practically floats to the kitchen, even pausing to close his eyes and inhale.

In the kitchen, many pans have been pulled out of the cupboards and placed all around the counters, as if someone had been rummaging through looking for the right one. Some doors are still open, and there are small glasses of spices out. When the figure in front of the stove, shaking his hand as he moves the pan in his hand over the fire, turns around, Alex snorts.

“Was it very necessary to wear an apron?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at the other. Jack grins at his friend, and drops the pan on the stove, without turning around to see where it lands.

“Alex!” He cries, and throws his arms in the air. Alex smiles back, and moves to see what it is that Jack is cooking, but he finds himself trapped between a pair of arms. Alex playfully grimaces when Jack smacks a kiss on his forehead and Jack childishly pokes his tongue at him in response to his grimace. Rolling his eyes, Alex moves and forcefully tries to see past Jack, stretching his neck to peek over his shoulder.

“How’d you get in?” He laughs, and Jack huffs.

“Your extra key.” He says, because as his tone says, it’s supposed to be obvious. Alex hums, and leans in the direction of the food.

“So…” He stretches out, “What are you doing?”

Jack grins and turns around, turning off the stove. He sets a plate on the counter beside the stove, and carefully tilts the pan towards it. Alex watches with hungry eyes as the most delicious smelling egg, colorful from the spices, falls gracefully onto the porcelain plate. Then Jack quickly grabs it and suddenly, it’s in front of Alex, fork already in place.

Alex eyes it suspiciously and looks up to Jack, who is grinning from ear to ear, “Is it drugged?”

Jack rolls his eyes dramatically and slips onto the stool on the other side of the counter, swiftly taking the apron off and throwing it on the fruit basket. Alex sighs and lets his hunger and the delicious smell take him. He is halfway done with the food on the plate in a couple seconds, and with his face stuffed in food, he says, “Alright, so if this isn’t drugged, what do you want from me?”, which, in reality, sounds like, ‘Mrult, ouf isndug wut wunm mmm?’. Jack isn’t allowed to pretend as if he doesn’t understand, because he was forced to learn the language of hunger long, long ago.

He stares at Alex with an exaggerated pout and Alex waits, still chewing and moaning in pleasure, going as far as to throw his head back. When he looks back towards Jack to grin he thinks he sees Jack’s smile strain, but when he blinks again, it’s back to normal.

“Anyway, how did you learn to cook like this?” He asks him, eyebrows furrowed and he moves the plate (face still stuffed in it) to the counter where Jack is to stand in front of him at the other side.

“I’ve always cooked like that.” He responds, feigning hurt. Alex snorts and places the now empty plate behind him, into the sink, before turning back to face Jack.

“No, really. No five year old Jack I knew ever expressed any interest in making food. Rather, he burned one of the cabinets down after trying to make popcorn.”

“You don’t know many things about me, Alex. I’m a master chef and I fight aliens off with my spatula.” Jack replies indignantly,

At this Alex actually laughs, moving away from the counter, and walking into the living room, throwing himself onto the couch. He pats the space beside him while looking over his shoulder at his best friend. No longer than two seconds later,  Jack seated himself beside Alex with his legs stretched out, and his back to Alex’s chest. Obviously, Alex-on instinct-wraps an arm around his waist, and Jack is unfazed as he always is. Alex doesn’t think much of it either. What’s new?

“So?” Alex asks, and he rests his head on top of Jack’s. The other boy sighs, and crosses his arms over his chest childishly.

“I made my mom teach me this morning.” He mumbles, and his pout turns more pronounced. Alex blinks and he tips his head down to stare at his best friend, before he finally laughs.

“Don’t laugh! I wanted to make you breakfast!” Jack purposely whines, trying to annoy Alex by imitating all his past girlfriends (high-pitched voices, long legs and empty brains). Alex keeps laughing though.

“Actually, I’m more amused,” He says between gasps, bending over as he laughs, making Jack slowly slide off the couch, “By how you woke up early to do it.”

Jack snorts, and grabs a spare pillow to smack his friend in the face, but Alex keeps on laughing. Jack then suddenly stops looking so misleadingly wound up, and he tilts his head up, bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“You still love me, don’t you, Lexi?” He asks, voice unbelievably sweet, much like when Alex heard his voice for the first time in the morning. Alex rolls his eyes, and, knowing that if he shows his frustration over Jack making fun of his past sweethearts (and current girlfriend that Jack doesn’t get along with and Alex has been dating for two weeks now) his best friend will know he won, so he plays along.

“Of course I do, Jacky.” He replies, and Jack grins back. He laughs, and Alex watches, stops laughing to watch the other giggle. And to prove his point, he leans in and plants a kiss straight on Jack’s lips for good measure. Alex only realizes what he just did when he feels Jack suddenly tense.

 

-

 

_“I’m sorry, Brendon.”_

Brendon blinks the beginning of tears away, and he quickly covers the phone to hide his sniffles as he curls into himself on the couch. He’s staring at his lap, and he nods, realizing in relief that the person on the other line can’t possibly see him (unless he were outside his window, which would be weird, even for Brendon) and he’s thankful for that. He doesn’t like it when other people see him cry.

“It’s alright,” He mumbles, and the blubbering is barely understandable. There is no way Spencer could not know Brendon is crying, but he hasn’t mentioned anything. He’s thankful Spencer is a quiet type of person, “It’s not your fault.”

There is a sigh, a bit frustrated, but Brendon knows it’s not meant for him. He stares at his hand as it fiddles with the edge of his pants, _“That’s the problem, Bren. It is. I’m sorry. I was so sure that he’s somehow agree after everything I’ve done for him and—”_

“It’s alright.” Brendon says more forcefully, and he tries not to acknowledge how he’s now glaring at his fingers. So now he was only a payment to Spencer for favors he's done for him? Spencer immediately stops talking and they stay in silence for a long while, and the only sound constantly interrupting the silence is Brendon’s soft sniffing.

“Alright, Spence. I have to go to get ready for work. Bye.”

There is still silence, and Brendon wonders if Spencer has fallen asleep at Brendon’s crying, tired of him acting like a stupid love struck teenager. Brendon can’t argue and say he isn’t.

 _“Bye, Brendon.”_ The other finally responds.

Brendon hangs up, and throws the phone on the couch across from him. He huffs, and buries his face into a pillow. He doesn’t know for how long he stays like this, but he is silent, and the hot tears don’t stop flooding his eyes before dropping down onto the fabric.

“Brendon, I hope you’re doing something productive, because if not you’re going to help me with the groceries I have in bags and—”

His sister’s voice stops short when she sees Brendon on the couch motionless with his face stuffed in a pillow. Brendon doesn’t move, and he silently curses. Of course she walks in just when he was starting to calm down.

“Brendon, what’s wrong?” Her motherly voice sickens him, but not in the way that it disgusts him. The memories of ever having a mother come back to him and he quickly stands up, faces his sister and she gasps at seeing his bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks.

“What do you want?” He hisses, and he tries to glare behind his tears that make his vision blurry. She sighs, and drops the bags, not even flinching when there’s cracking of glass.

“Brendon…” She whispers, and walks towards him. When her hand connects softly to his cheek, he cringes away from the touch and backs away.

“What happened?” She murmurs, and he shakes his head, turning around and begins the march up the stairs to his room.

“I found out no one wants me, that’s all.” He says over his shoulder, face sickened with himself, and soon there’s the slam of a door.

 

_

 

Andy Biersack. It’s just two words, but yet they mean so much. To some people, they mean fag. For others, they mean loser. For the rest, they indicate that someone is a freak (“Oh my god, you’re acting like a Biersack,” They’d say). There are, of course, those who see it as the name of their son and nephew. Andy’s used to it, of course. He’s used to being the boy whom no one wants to be near because they might get ‘infected with gay’. Childish, really, and he likes to secretly laugh at it. Especially over how he isn’t gay, not even bisexual. Though, he never tries to prove them wrong.

Andrew likes being considered as a freak, and is used to not once in his life being considered someone’s friend. He doesn’t take it the wrong way. People simply do not know how to deal with his blunt personality, and are unfamiliar with his loyalty. Andy’s seen how ‘friends’ treat each other. They talk behind each other’s backs, laugh in their faces and care for each other in no way. They don’t understand the family Andy was raised in, the manners he was taught to always demonstrate. And yet, they still think he is of the devil, considering the music his father and him listen to.

Right. Of course. Devil’s offspring and in an all-Catholic school. Logic is so rare these days.

“It’s fine.” Andy finds himself saying, sighing and looking anywhere but into his mother’s eyes, “Nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

Mrs. Biersack shakes her head and mutters under her breath, she takes Andy’s face into her soft hands and Andy frowns, forcing himself not to turn his head away.

“You should have never insisted to go to that summer school, Andrew. I know how much you love music, and singing but—” She closes her eyes and sighs once more, moving back and letting go of his face, “You don’t have to take such drastic measures.”

Andy rolls his eyes lightly and leans against the back of the living room couch without turning around, “There aren’t any drastic measures, mom. It’s all about learning to deal with different people, something you told me I should learn to do.”

“I never said you should put up with being bullied!”

“I never said you did.”

Mrs. Biersack clenches her jaw, and angrily storms into the kitchen, hating how her son manages to keep calm in moments she could not. She starts pulling out supplies for tonight’s dinner and Andy understand this as his cue to leave. He curls the corner of his lips up, and ignores the sting of his cheek until the pain of the bruises subsides.

“One last straw, Andrew. I hear you aren’t telling me about this, or that you aren’t defending yourself again, and you are out of Creating and Performing Arts. You have enough with normal classes which start in September.”

Andy wants to point out how a Roman-Catholic school would be considered anything but normal, but he just nods and shrugs.

“Fine.” He says, because he knows that if he puts his mind to it, he be might all of the sudden able to learn martial arts to defend himself (thinking sarcastically, of course).

He goes up the stairs, and closes his doors. He sits on his bed with his back against the headboard, and lets the truthful screams from his favorite songs fill his mind.

The next day, Andy is kicked out by his instructor.

 

-

 

“It’s not like him.” Adam sighs. Jon shrugs, and pats his friend’s back understandingly, before leaning back on his chair once again, and glancing to the Starbucks counter, where some girl took his place after his shift ended.

“Give him time. Soon enough he’ll realize what he’s doing to put an end to it.” He said, and then pauses to eye Adam’s coffee. Adam distractedly pushes it to his friend, and Jon grins before gulping it down.

“I don’t think I have enough time to give him.” Adam sighs, and bites the inside of his cheek in a sense that shows just how worried he is for his best friend.

“I know how you feel, dude. Don’t worry,” Jon clamps a hand on the table, and Adam follows the movement with his eyes, “He’ll come to grasp reality soon enough. I’ve seen it firsthand, just when I was losing hope.”

Adam shakes his head and finally leans back, no longer leaning on the table and instead idly eyeing the people in the shop, sizing them up and trying to figure out why they’re here, just by their clothes and composure. They all have a story.

“What you passed through is much different, Jon. Your little friend got kicked out by his parents. He has a reason to have felt that way, and even so, he has the support of many people,” He looks to Jon’s direction, who has abandoned Adam’s coffee, and is gravely staring at him, clearly disturbed at the thought of remembering the state of his own best friend, “William has no one but me, but yet he feels as if he has no one to lead him the right way.”

Jon does not respond, rather seems to be thinking over Adam’s words, before looking back to the other, and waiting. Adam takes this as a sign that he could continue.

“I’m afraid he’s starting to have some feelings for him,” Adam confesses, and sighs heavily as he rests his head on his hand. Jon furrows his eyebrows, and puts the empty cup he was judging down, realizing that right now, Adam is more important than his wired addiction.

“Gabe’s nothing more than a player who disgustingly uses people for his own benefit- throws them away when they are of no use for him. Surely he couldn’t be that stupid, right?” Jon laughs slightly, and shakes his head, trying to ease the tense position of Adam’s shoulders with what he thinks is the true outcome of the situation, but then he catches Adam’s grave expression and he stops short, his smile slowly fading from his lips.

‘You don’t know that’, is what Adam says with only a grimace.

 

-

 

Ryan doesn’t know how long he sits on the bench of the park, because he blocks out the world, and when he returns to realizing the events of his surroundings, suddenly the sun is completely up and the shouts and screams of kids running around ring throughout the playground.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and barely even breathes. He doesn’t even allow himself to think, because he knows that if he does, he’ll want to go to his house, and provoke his father on purpose, as punishment for himself. A wry smile forms on his lips as he realizes the direction of his thoughts. Well, seems as if he wasn’t very good at not allowing himself to think.

He suddenly stands up, and shoves his hands into his hoodie’s pockets, ignoring the stare from the lady that had sat next to him, and ducking his head as he walks through the park’s paths, avoiding the sinking grass that tickles at his ankles.

He bites at his full bottom lip and licks it once sensing it dry, moving through the lot where all the kids are playing. He frowns as a little toddler almost falls on his feet, and rolls his eyes as it starts crying, continuing to walk and refusing to acknowledge the glare the mother sends his way.

Out of nowhere, a cold, plastic something strikes him on the face, and he curses under his breath. He blinks until he can see properly, and suddenly there’s a tall, thin blonde in front of him, running his way.

“I am so sorry!” She says, and her furrowed eyebrows show sympathy as she sees he lost gaze. She bends down to grab a purple ball at his feet, and brushes a strand of her long hair behind her ear, biting her bottom lip, and eyeing him from under her eyelashes.

“Uh…”

“I was just fooling around with my sister, and accidentally threw the ball too far up for her to reach. I didn’t mean to hit you!” She exclaims, and once Ryan manages to process that, yes, she is talking to him, he opens his mouth again, hopes something actually coherent will manage to escape his lips this time.

“Yeah. Sure. No problem.” He shrugs, and gestures towards the ball, “No big deal. I’ve had worse.” He looks back to all those games of volleyball he was forced to participate in, and judging by her small laugh, he knows the aversion in his expression at the recall is apparent. He notes how her laugh is nice and chiming, and how her green eyes light up.

“What your name?” She asks suddenly, and Ryan pauses, glancing down when he sees her pants jerk. She looks down too, rolling her eyes at seeing a little girl with similar facial features yank at the bottom on her jeans again. The little girl hides behind her older sister’s figure.

“So?” Ryan looks back up, and stares at the girl, the one with the green eyes, blonde hair and nice laugh.

“Ryan. My name’s Ryan.” He finally says almost remotely, and she grins she holds her hand out.

“Hey there, I’m Emma,” She says, and she smiles again, dimples carelessly appearing on her cheeks, “I was wondering…”

Ryan waits silently, and she looks surprised when she sees he doesn’t catch on. She turns her eyes downcast, the smile growing thinner in a shy fashion Ryan knows all too well.

“Would you like to, you know, go get some coffee some day or something? If you want I could give you my phone number or…?”

She trails off, and bites at her lip again, making it numb and raw, and Ryan’s eyes follow the movement, and he instantly notices how she offhandedly took a step closer to him. Her little sister had long left to be with her new friends.

Ryan stuffs his hands further into his pockets, stretching them out a small bit and he smiles.

“No. Too busy. Thanks for the offer though.”

He pushes past her, and keeps on walking through the path, nods towards the little sister who’s pulling at a boy’s hair and doesn’t care to glance at Emma’s face in the process. When he finally exits the park, his phone vibrates, and he decides that ignoring it is not an option right now unless he wants to receive an angry rant.

_Ryan fucking Ross. I hope you aren’t doing something reckless right now._

_-SS_

Ryan smiles, and walks towards the opposite direction of his house. Sometimes, he refuses to admit it even to himself, but his best friend is the only reason why he’s still alive and if only a bit rational.

 

-

 

_“Honey, are you awake?”_

Gabe rolls his eyes, and pushes himself off his bed to get up to find his clothes, realizes that luck may be on his side, since William had only left a couple minutes ago. He doesn’t think he’d be able to cope with having to throw William off his bed and under divan again. He had been too close.

“Yeah, I’m awake!” He yells back, and rolls his eyes at his mother’s voice, finding annoying how she still thinks that he would manage to sleep until five in the afternoon, though it’s quite true that if it weren’t for William having to leave every morning, he would never wake up. Morning sex isn’t enough if you have to take it alone, after all.

_“Did you eat breakfast?!”_

“Not hungry.” Gabe snaps back as he throws some clean boxers, only to shove them off and move towards the bathroom. He hears a frustrated sigh in response,

_“Gabriel, I haven’t seen you eat in days, and you seem paler. I’m worried that you aren’t telling me something!”_

Gabe imitates his mother in a childish manner as he mouths her words exaggeratedly, and makes gestures with his hands, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, mom. I’ve eaten, just not in the dining room. Stop trying to throw yourself into my private food life! I can manage alone.” He fumes, and since he is in no mood for meaningless arguments, he shoves his bathroom door closed and locks it. He doesn't notice how he doesn't make much sense anymore.

While the hot water runs against his back, leaving burning trails behind on his skin, he slowly moves his hand down his stomach to his erection, slowly teasing himself along the way and groans. Gabe wraps his hand around his dick in order to start squeezing it, to the memory to thin bare legs with matching full lips and soft brown hair. Gasping, he runs a finger over his slit, leaking with precum, and he bites back a moan as he moves faster, having in mind the particular person's expression of pleasure as it coursed through both their veins, Gabe would furiously thrust until they'd both come. Overcome with desire, Gabe groans and spills over his stomach at the memory of William leaning over to suck on his neck. This is what happens when he doesn’t get his morning sex.

 

-

 

“Motherfucker.” He hisses, and brings his legs up to hold it in pain as the boxes waver after the impact his foot caused.

“Frank!” His mother scowls, and Frank mumbles a quick apology under his breath before biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from letting out a string of profanes towards the brown inanimate object (that is obviously mocking him with its dullness).

He forces himself to keep hold on the box he’s holding labeled SILVERWARE though, because if he drops it he’s sure he wouldn’t last under the rage of his livid mother.

“How many boxes do we have left?” He inquires, sighing as he sets the box on the table, careful with the glass. His mother is seeming less than interested in hearing more of her son’s useless nagging. Frank’s used to this by now, but he still thinks they should get the neighbors to help. Either way, what the fuck happened with the blueberry pie on your doorstep followed by an enthusiastic family? Frank has been watching too many old films. People are petty these days. He would almost wish to be living in the 80s, but there was no internet back then.

“Just a couple boxes more, Frank. Now stop asking and help me with the books box.” Mrs. Iero says, not even looking up as she responds.

He struggles even more on that same box and grumbles to himself, asking Linda “who the fuck reads so much?”, but decides to shut up after his mother snaps at him and tells him to look inside. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he sees almost everything except three books are his comic books.

And then his mom just decides to move just when summer is halfway through. What the fuck? It would have been nice if they had moved later, when summer is close to an end so he could spend time with Bert talking shit about others (in their face), smoking, or they could have moved sooner. So he could get used to the new city’s vibe or some shit like that. It doesn’t matter now. What matters is how he still needs to move boxes around the first floor, second and attic and –if his mom decides she doesn’t like it there-, back.

“Can I have break?” Frank gasps for air, and slowly slides down, with his back against the wall, until he’s slumping on the ground and his shirt is balled up from behind. He can practically hear his mom roll her eyes.

“Go out,” She says, and Frank already is on a verge of groaning, “But be back by the time your father and I are ready for dinner. Don’t take long.”

Frank sighs, and goes to the door, throwing it open, “Right. Talk to strangers, have them offer me candy, get kidnapped and raped. Got it. Bye.” He leaves quickly before his mother objects, her mouth already open to argue.

 

-

 

The chair hangs from the ceiling, and his light bulb rests on the floor as it illuminates the room. Not much of a big difference, though. Seeing as the bulb is dim and Vic can barely even see what's on the other side of the room. To say he's tired is an understatement. He's been working twice the shifts he usually does, as it's summer and he needs the money. Then Mike, his younger brother, asked him to lend him money to use the bus. They are already low on money, and yet even his good for nothing uncle is demanding that Vic pay him for letting them stay at his house, as if Vic and Mike want to be there.

Blood rushes to his brain and he feels his cheeks turn a bright red as it slowly spreads to the rest if his face. He doesn't want to move from being upside down. He likes how he feels when he’s upside down. The world seems nice for once in his lifetime like this, upside down and the opposite of what it really is. Nice, fair and full of pleasant wonders. He snorts, and rolls over to have his head back on the futon, his body curled into himself, and he ignores his age as he hugs his knees.

 _"Where the fuck are my cigars!"_ Vic tenses at the sudden voice and narrows his eyes barely cranes his neck up to respond.

"Well why don't you get the fuck up and look for them!" He doesn't wait for the man downstairs to respond angrily, but instead just gets up and ignores the dizziness resulting from the sudden movement. He throws his window open and hopes Mike is too busy with his friends to return. He jumps from the window sill, and bends his knees as his feet hit the dry grass below to absorb something of the impact. He doesn't care enough as to make dinner, and dismisses the reminder of the consequences it will provoke.

He grabs his cell phone and quickly types a message to his brother before he goes any further down the street.

_Going for a walk. Stay at Tony's for a bit longer. Sawyer's pissed at the world again._

_VF_

Feeling satisfied with himself, he looks over his shoulder to the collapsing house where Sawyer is probably watching television with a beer in hand. He doesn't even scowl, as he closes his eyes and remembers that he's too young be bitter. He wishes that he himself could believe that.

 

-

 

That same night Pete can't sleep. He thinks about many meaningless things, and then he thinks about everything that happened in that simple meeting with Mikey. Sighing, he begins to make a mental list while staring at his dark ceiling, refusing to acknowledge the sound of his dog growling at an insect somewhere outside.

At the thought of Patrick, he smiles sadly, and each and every time he reminds himself of exactly how much he misses his friend, whom he has trusted for so long every since Joe first introduced them. Memories of snapbacks with shiny blonde hair, timid smiles and amazingly humble personalities. The only thing that Pete could ever find negative out of his friend, is how he is straight. In any other situation, Pete would have laughed at himself for every hitting on a straight man (and probably at the punch he'd receive), but right now, finding the humor of the situation certainly isn't possible. It's happened once, he tells himself, and you were stupid enough to let it happen again. Pete will never learn.

Pete curls into himself and eyes his clock, seeing as in bright light it announces it to be three thirty two in the morning. Or at least he thinks it's that hour. His eyes have turned unconsciously blurry. Insomnia is something Pete is used to, as he's had it for almost two years, ever since he was fourteen.

He let it happen again. He reminds himself. It happened with Mikey and now he's slowly letting it happen with Patrick, and there's no way he could stop it. Even with Patrick away for the entire summer, Pete is slowly sucking himself into a black hole he'll never be able to get back out of.

He closes his eyes and murmurs nonsense to himself, trying to think of something else or to fall asleep, but he knows he won't succeed.

Shakily, he quickly reaches into his drawer and sits up, grabbing a spare water bottle from his nightstand and opens the small white container on one hand, before doing the same to the water bottle on the other. Tipping his face back, he easily spills the contents of the white container into his mouth. He thinks that if he pretends to have confused the white container with his pills from his water bottle, he could get away with have overdosed. Then maybe God will forgive him. Is there a God? Pete likes to fool himself into thinking so.

Pete murmurs to himself, and a flash of a shy smile appears in his mind, light colored eyes shining with life, and he sighs contentedly as he sees that Patrick will be the last image on his mind.

All too soon, his pleasure is cut short with a flash if a frowning Mikey, and Pete is aware of what he's trying to do, and the reason. He can almost imagine the feeling of the drugs of the pills spilling into his stomach and spreading its poison until it reaches his heart. As he reaches for his cell phone and half-heartedly sends his first contact he sees a plea for help, offering no explanation, more tears string into his eyes and he fucks needs for it to stop.

He sighs shakily and waits, doesn't know whether he wants to be found before his life breaks of if he doesn’t.

After being rejected harshly once, and allowed only friendship as before, he still could not be used to feeling humiliated and torn between two decisions. Once again, why must he allow himself to love straight men?

Pete's eyes eventually fall shut, even with all his effort to keep them open. His lips part, and he doesn't know how much time passes before he hears yells, not long before he is greeted with cries and sirens. Does that mean he's wanted in the world? Or were they just cries of women afraid of losing her job once a fifteen year old lad dies? Pete wonders if he'll be awake to see.

Hearing his brother yell bloody murder, and as Pete feels his own heart level out, he agrees with the shrill beep coming from the machinery aside of him.

_No, he won't._

 

-

 

Alex stares at his bedroom wall in distaste. He had thought that he had left the idiotic, brainless Alex Gaskarth behind in sixth grade, but he was obviously wrong. School starts in a exactly week, no more or less. Ever since he first kissed Jack (and caused them both to freak out) two days ago, they haven't interacted in any way. Ever since they became friends about three years ago, two day's the longest they've ever gone without talking (even when Jack was forced to go on vacation with his aunt last year, he'd lock himself in the guest room he was staying in and talk to Alex on the phone for hours).

The worst part of this whole situation (because, yes, there's something worse) is how, not only is he going to be forced to see Jack in a week, but since they've been mindlessly fooling around and pretending to be a couple to spike other people up, Alex has just managed to cross the line by not thinking properly. Ignoring Jack is not an option, and Alex likes to fool himself into thinking that it's for the sake of those at school who will notice, and not because of the fear of losing his best, and only, friend. Because, let's face it, everyone else either just wants to get into his virgin pants or only wants his attention.

At the new discovery Alex huffs and grabs his pillow to bury his nose into it, cursing out at Jack who had simply stared at him with a shocked expression before Alex had muttered a 'fuck' and ran into his room. He hadn't gone back down until he was sure Jack was gone. But now Alex realizes he's holding the pillow that Jack had slept on a couples days ago, before the small incident, and Alex throws it across his room with an angry grunt of disapproval. He throws it with such a force that the once inoffensive object knocks down the Muse merchandise Jack gave him last year for his birthday. Alex decides he's had enough and sits up, deciding to make a surprise visit to Zack's house.

Whatever. He’s never had to warn Zack of his arrival before anyway.

 

-

 

"Does it really matter?" Brendon mutters harshly through his gritted teeth. He’s glaring at his hands, which are conveniently placed on his lap. In front of him he hears a sigh, and he clenches his hands into fists, curled into each other as he tries his best not to snap at the person who was only trying to help, despite the unwelcome pity he is receiving.

Spencer sighs again, because he can, and it seems that he secretly knows exactly how to spark annoyance in the older boy's chest. Seeing that Brendon obviously has nothing to talk about the matter, he decides not to push it. That doesn't mean he can't try once more, though.

"Ryan's just hard to please, Brendon. Don't take it personally. He-He just has a lot going through his mind and--"

"Goddamn, Spencer!" Brendon finally yells, his eyes full of anger as his fists slam onto the table, and he ignores the stares he receives, "I fucking get it! Ryan wants nothing to do with me!"

Brendon's breathing is obviously labored, and his sharp intakes of breathe are visible as his chest harshly lowers and fills with air again. The younger blue eyed boy stares at him with wide eyes, and it's Brendon who sighs this time. He lowers his head until his chin is against his chest, and he shamefully moves his hands slowly back to his lap.

"I'm sorry, Spence. I had no right to do that."

Spencer shrugs and stares at his own hands, trying to focus on the chirping of the birds in the city park around them. He knows he should take no offense at Brendon acting towards this way towards Spencer and his best friend, because the boy could only take too much. Spencer could only guess how tired Brendon has gotten after having to deal with having a crush on the same person for over seven years, especially after receiving rejection the first time he has an actual opportunity to have his attention. Spencer should have never promised Brendon a date with Ryan. He had just naturally assumed Ryan would agree and go out with what the oldest boy sees as just an annoying, gay kid. Spencer admits to himself that his best friend is sort of an asshole.

"So, why am I here again?" Brendon mumbles, and looks up after tucking his hands under his knees, even though the sun is beaming down a little too much on them and causing the heat to be a bit overwhelming.

"Nah, just wanted to talk." Spencer responds and grins. Brendon glances up, and once seeing the other beam at him, he returns the smile. And just like that, it is all forgotten. He must have forgotten over the summer why he loves Spencer Smith so much. Sadly, Brendon can't bring himself to have a crush on Spencer. It would have been so much simpler.

"Need somewhere to be?" Spencer asks, face a bit indifferent, but Brendon guesses that it's just the art of being polite. He shrugs back.

"My sister's going to be back from work soon. Might question where I am. I don't need a search party sent out for me." He responds, leaning his head back on the metal park bench, and sighs dreamily at an ice cream parlor around the corner. He wishes he had money.

Spencer doesn't ask about his parents, and doesn't question about his sister. He's endlessly grateful. The fact whether he trusts Spencer or not has nothing to do with if he's willing to cooperate with his house life or not. Big deal, it's not as if it makes any difference. The same with Ryan-fucking-Ross. Though it’ll definitely be more difficult, he will convince himself that Ross makes no difference in his life and he’ll erase everything that has to do with Ryan from his life. But then Spencer suggests that they should go get ice cream, even offering to pay, and Brendon takes that back.

 

-

 

Andy has no idea what is going on. Currently throwing stuff into his luggage, he ignores the frantic beating of his heart which has inconveniently blocked his hearing anything else, and now he's trying his best to keep calm and stop himself from growing out of control.

He had decided that asking politely for any source of explanation for this event would be useless, so he went along with his mother telling him to get his most important possessions into a bag. She told him, her voice laced with worry, that they're leaving and most likely never coming back.

Seeing as his parents are deeply in love, the chance that they had an argument was very low on his list of reasonable explanations. His father was already waiting by the car, putting more pressure on him and his mother to hurry. Andy didn’t want to bother his parents more, so when he was throwing his stuff into the trunk (which was really filled with more albums and posters than clothes, since his mother told him to only take important stuff), he casually asked where they are going, struggling to keep his voice at an even level.

“We don’t know yet,” His mother replies with a hard stare, and she turns her back to him as she riffles through his belongings to try and help him choose between what he needs, and what he’ll be leaving behind.

Andy nods shortly, and continues to put his stuff inside the suitcase. His parents are definitely not the kind of people who do anything without planning in advance, so the answer his mother gave him caught him off guard. His parents are never out of control of a situation.

“Are we coming back?” He asks, eyes drooping from lack of sleep.

“No.” She answers truthfully. Andy smiles. He likes this plan.

Nine hours later, they’re driving into a town that Andy has never heard of before. He fights to keep his eyes open as they urge him to get some sleep, but thankfully he wins the battle and continues to observe their surroundings. When they reach an empty house, Andy can't open his mouth to do anything but stifle a yawn. His father opens the door and pushes it open. That night, Andy sleeps on the floor of the empty house, wood slightly creaking under him, and though with his weariness he still hasn't processed what exactly happened today, he knows tomorrow he'll be able to deduce his theories. Right now though, with his head against a soft pillow and his body pressed against the hard floor as the sun peeks from over the horizon, he decides sleep might be the next best thing to do.

 

-

 

Spencer trials his eyes over the menu, and subconsciously starts tapping on the counter as he skims through the various options. When he realizes that he's tapping, he pauses for a moment, only to continue. He's honestly surprised that he hasn't been snapped at by someone who's around him, and he keeps going to see how long it will last.

"Just orange juice, thank you." Ryan mutters from beside him to the barista, and Spencer rolls his eyes, but doesn't turn around. He knows what Ryan likes, so whether the older boy likes it or not, he'll order for him. Ryan knows perfectly well that the only reason Spencer invited him to Starbucks was to get some food into his very empty stomach.

Spencer doesn't look away from the menu as he orders, doing his best to ignore the glares Ryan’s sending his way once he hears Spencer order his favorite meal.

"Will that be all?" The barista asks, friendly smile audible in his voice. Spencer hums and turns to Ryan, sending him a bright smile, and Ryan resists, only by a small chance, the urge to knock his fist right between his best friend's blue eyes, which are way too cheery for his liking. Ryan knows Spencer hates it when he refers to him as a kid, but seriously, Ryan doesn't need a kid caring for him. Because that's what Spencer is doing, and it's way out of Ryan's league.

The barista tells him the price, and Spencer turns his way, handing over the money and his smile fades from his face. The barista looks up from the register and gives him a confused smile.

"Hi?" He asks, and after a small bit of hesitation he adds, "I'm Jon."

Ryan chokes on his juice as he stifles a snort, and Spencer sends him a quick glare. Serves him fucking right for being a natural asshole.

Spencer glowers at Ryan, before immediately looking back to Jon, who is observing him with a calculated stare and Spencer feels his cheeks turn pink, feels the heat spread to the tips of his ears. He almost blurts out a response to Jon something stupid and something that would probably freak him out like, "I know." This time Ryan has to immediately walk to an empty couch to conceal his laugh. Spencer decides Ryan's more of a dick than an asshole. Or maybe he’s both.

When Spencer diverts his attention back to Jon, who’s right in front of him, he sees the older boy giving Ryan's distanced figure a concerned look.

"Is your friend okay?" He asks, and Spencer blinks and stares at Jon, who is still worriedly watching a dying Ryan.

Jon turns to him when Spencer doesn’t answer, and once Jon's eyes meet a bright blue, Spencer snaps out of his daze.

"Yeah," Spencer drawls, and he gives Ryan's back a pointed glare, "He'll be fine."

Jon nods, and just when Spencer gives his attention back to Jon, he catches sight of a grin the taller man gives him, and Spencer's lips part in despair as Jon turns to make his drink.

Spencer notices Ryan seeming to be fine again and sends him a look, for which Ryan responds with a smirk and an unapologetic shrug. Spencer briefly closes his eyes.

This wasn't supposed to happen, Spencer reminds himself, and he was never supposed to talk to Jonathan. Only admire from afar (he'd argue when Ryan claims he was being a stalker).

"Spencer Smith, right?"Jon said casually as Spencer continued to stand there, seeing as no one else was in line. Spencer tenses for a long while, not having any memory of ever telling Jon his name. How does he know? Jon's much older and popular -Spencer's... well, Spencer's not.

"Uh," He hesitates, before reminding himself that Jon's just another crush he'll probably get bored with soon. Spencer clears his throat, "Yeah. How’d you know?"

Jon startles at the change of attitude and shoots Spencer another smile, looking only a bit confused.

"Yeah, sorry," He says, laughing uncomfortably, "I've just heard about you from my friend, that's all. Seen you around too."

While Spencer's heart is possibly beating hard enough to break his ribcage, and he swallows in a way he hopes wasn't too visible, he holds back a blush. In reality, he’s only barely successful judging by how his cheeks manage to turn a very light pink.

"Heard stuff about me from your friend, huh? And what exactly have you been talking about that involves me?"

Jon's eyes barely flicker to Ryan's form, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Spencer. Jon smiles warmly and places his drink on the counter, Spencer name written messily on the side.

Spencer's cocks one of his hips up on natural habit, and Jon seems surprised to see Spencer staring at him with an eyebrow raised. And then he suddenly feels a bit nervous when he realizes this is the infamous 'bitch face' Brendon talks about oh-so often.

"Nothing much, really. Just a comment here and there," In that moment, a girl in a uniform similar to Jon’s calls him over, telling him he’s on break, and Jon shoots her a quick grin, the same one Spencer received a few minutes ago. He then looks back to the younger boy in front of him, "Alright then, Spencer Smith. See you around."

When Spencer arrives at the table Ryan picked, the other is already on his laptop. He slams his head on the wood while groaning. Ryan doesn't even look away from the screen as he says, "What now?".

When Spencer notifies him of his current situation with Jon and how the older boy seems to think Spencer is an asshole, a sly smile spreads across Ryan's lips.

 

-

 

The next day William is woken up by a cold rush of air that goes directly to his spine and he shivers, pulling his covers closer to him. His mind travels and wonders where Gabe is (since the other boy is anything but someone who wakes up early), until he remembers his early departure from Gabe’s house a couple days ago, and how William surely pissed him off. William hasn't received a call from him yet and he probably never will, seeing as Gabe's pride seems to always be in the way.

It's been a long time since William has slept alone. Ever since summer vacation started, Gabe has been ordering William to meet him somewhere, or has called William to tell him to leave his window open because he was going to visit (but that only happened when Gabe's parents are around and William can't go over to his). After the last four days since he saw Gabe, William's been forced to sleep on a bed alone, and he honestly doesn't like the feeling of having no warm arms around him (not that Gabe ever did it intentionally -whenever Gabe woke up to be spooning William he'd blame the other boy saying that he can't go to sleep with William shivering and the only way to get him to stay still is securing his arms around him).

William realizes that his phone’s ringing, and picks it up. "Hello?" He mutters into the receiver. There's some shuffling on the other end and he grimaces at the loud sound, seeing as it's only eight in the morning.

_"Bill?"_

William sighs once he recognizes the voice and turns his head, feeling the sheets rustle around him as he places his phone between his ear and the mattress below him before closing his eyes.

"What is it, Adam?" He asks, muttering, and puts his pillow over on the other side of the bed.

_"No, nothing really. I just wanted to check to see how you were."_

At these words, William rolls his eyes from behind his eyelids and yawns, opening his eyes and squinting in the direction of his curtains, where the damn sunlight is seeping in, "Hey, if this is about the last conversation we had, calm down. I'm not angry. I should have expected that type of comment from you."

 _"Not angry?,"_ Adam's voice sounds exasperated, _"Bill, you didn't answer any of my calls or texts."_

William glares at his wall, sitting up and stretching, not seeming too enthusiastic about Adam accusing him.

"I wasn't ignoring you," He tries to clarify, though using lies in his favors never seems to work with Adam, because he’s known him for so long, "I was busy."

Adam's snorts predictably on the other end, and William finally stands up, rubbing his eyes with his fists and balancing his phone on his shoulder.

_"Since when are you busy with anything besides Saporta? And we both know that wasn't the case this time."_

William frowns and retorts, telling Adam that he has better things to do besides talking to him, and he’s truly in a bad mood, snapping at his friend and taking all his sexual frustration of the past four days without another body on him, but on the other line he hears Adam merely laugh at his temper. Adam is too used to William's mood swings. William wishes that weren't the case. After all, Adam has too much of a good life to worry about William's.

"Anyway, I'm going out," William lies between his teeth, knowing Adam will detect it and immediately knowing that William will in reality spend his day watching television and eating popcorn. Adam sighs, already have deduced the problem that happened between his best friend and the jock. All because Saporta was rejected once, just because William had to go early. Sometimes (meaning most of the time) Adam wishes he could just kill Saporta, seeing as William is already giving himself away to him for nothing in return and the dark haired boy still asks for more.

_"Have you figured things out with him?"_

"Why would I?" William snaps back, blaming anyone and everyone for his bad mood.

There's silence and finally Adam responds what seems to be five minutes later, _"You should just forget about him."_

William rolls his eyes and laughs dryly, not in the mood to have this discussion with Adam again. It's not as if William and Adam's friendship is strictly platonic. It's not like some friendships where the longest they've ever gone without talking to each other was half a day. No. William and Adam (or WilliamandAdam if you want to see it the way it was before Saporta came along and decided he wanted to stop bullying William, and instead fuck him in private), they have their ups and downs, most caused by William, who is the one who ignores Adam, the poor soul, before Adam tries to contact him after one of their arguments and apologize for something he didn’t do. Their lack of communication has gone on for even months. But it doesn't matter, because though William isn't the best at this, Adam knows William truly appreciates his friendship. William has proved it with every hug, ever smile, and every year that passes of their friendship.

"Are you coming over or not?" William asks, annoyed. He can almost hear Adam's soft smile from his affirmative response.

 

-

 

Gerard still refuses to exit his room at all costs. His parents have noticed of course, though no one but his mother has shown any interest in his lack of eating. His father is too busy staying at work extra hours to avoid the failure that is his son, and Mikey seems to have suddenly disappeared.

Donna had tried calling Mikey a few times, only to get the voice message. She had started to call Pete, who would never pick up (seeing as Mikey usually was with his best friend), and seemed to be close to a panic attack every time she heard ‘Hey. This is Mikey’s cell phone. If you’re calling and it’s something important then wait until I can pick up, just like everyone else.’

It wasn’t until Mikey sent her a message saying he was too busy that she calmed down only a small bit; a small response to her hysteria.

Busy. I’ll call you later.

In any other situation Gerard would be irritated at Mikey’s lack of empathy, but Gerard knows he’s in no position to express his opinion. Better yet, he shouldn’t even think about his younger brother, whom he’s let down oh-so many times.

The same words, repeated over and over, and Mikey had believed him. Aren’t they all fools?

The only reason Gerard thinks his mother cares is because she’d leave some food on his table for him to eat and leave without a word. If his mother is out and doesn’t bring him food, he doesn’t eat. The only reason he does when she is near is so Donna doesn’t worry.

School begins in exactly three days, and Gerard’s whole summer he spent doing mindless stupid stuff as drugs and after being caught, sulking. Worst of all, he’ll have to act as if his addiction never happened in school, which shouldn’t be too hard considering he was never much of a talker, but talking about his once friends (drug dealers, in more simple terms); it’ll be hard to avoid.

 _Just one more year_ , Gerard reminds himself, furiously using sharpie to shade his characters. _Just one more year and I’ll be free._

 

-

 

Kellin's arm hurts, which shouldn't be a surprise considering that’s what happens after repeatedly hitting yourself with a ruler. He's grounded and he fucking hates it. He feels absolutely jailed in his own house. Nighttime would have been a wonderful time to escape, and maybe pick someone to make out with, but his parents have even taken the liberty of screwing his window closed. He already tried unscrewing it, but apparently there's a hidden magical fucking button around there somewhere that alerts his parents of what he’s trying to do. And the same goes for the front of the house.

Boredom is the one thing he could not tolerate (along with people biting his penis, but hey), and he refuses to stay like this any longer, especially when there’s only three days of summer vacation left. What fucking monsters have his parents turned into? To lock their son in on his last days of freedom? Criminal. Kellin smiles at the wall as he slaps his bendy ruler against his exposed, and now raw and pink, skin. He muses that now he'll have to make up for the lost time by skipping school.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts of his future plan by a voice coming from outside his window (which is still screwed shut), and he inches from the edge of his bed to the window, finding anything interesting at the moment. He found out that not even eating takes your boredom away.

He finds it odd for many reasons hearing a voice on the streets at this hour, considering it's night time and usually everyone passes through the streets at about four in the morning. Those other people aren't wasting their time locked away. Assholes. He already called Justin when his parents were away, leaving him alone with his door somehow locked from the outside. They seem to have thought of everything, considering even the doorknob is covered by key so he couldn't pick it with a paper clip. Ordering Justin to come and help him, the boy had just laughed and told him that it was about time Kellin got controlled. Kellin had hung up and promised himself to get back at him. Apparently Justin informed the rest of his friends as well judging by how they didn't pick up their phones. Dickheads.

When he looks out the window after throwing his ruler across the room, he sees the top of a head covered in long, brown hair. He seems to be talking to himself, Kellin can hear a bit of noise coming from his direction, but he can't see his face. Maybe he's singing horribly to himself. Kellin can relate to that.

The black haired boy watches the dark figure lazily drag his feet along the pavement, barely illuminated by the streetlights. Kellin, finding this unknown person the most interesting thing in his range of sight, leans closer to the window (being careful with the invisible magical button so his parents don’t burst in again, expecting to see Kellin crawling out), and stares at the figure, who has now stopped directly in front of Kellin’s house. The blue-eyed boy watches as the man (if he even qualifies as a man, seeing as he’s short and looks Kellin’s age, if not a year older) slides to the ground, against Kellin’s picket fence (which he still can’t believe his parents found necessary to add to the residence since even a small rodent wouldn’t let it get in its way). The boy hugs his legs to his chest and slowly puts his hands behind his neck until his forehead presses against his knees.

Kellin watches as he yells in frustration, though not loud enough to make Mr. and Mrs. Quinn shoo him away like a hobo on the streets. Kellin’s lips curl upward slightly, and he falls back to his bed, closing his eyes.

 _Yeah, dude_ , He echoes, _I know the feeling._

 

-

 

There are children everywhere. Patrick flinches every time he hears a scream or shout of someone’s name, before he moves over to make sure (and hope) that no one’s dead. Patrick doesn’t know what made his grandparents think that he’d be great for the job of taking care of about fifteen of his cousins, nieces and nephews, because-obviously-this is going wonderfully.

“Jason! What the f— heck are you doing on the crystal cabinet?” Patrick cries, and watches as the blonde haired boy flails around on the wood, making it dangerously creak. Jason replies by grinning at Patrick, and he throws himself in the air.

“Patrick!” He yells enthusiastically as he flies, if only for a few moments before Patrick’s reflexes kick in, and he runs towards him. He just barely manages catches him before the eight year old would have slammed to the floor (and Patrick believes he deserves a role on Matrix, considering his innate moves and strength).

“What is wrong with you, Jason?!” Patrick shouts at him, face red in anger and eyebrows scrunched together in fury. “Were you even thinking?”

Jason stares at Patrick with wide eyes, and he blinks a couple times before his eyes slowly become filled with water, and Patrick’s eyes glaze over with realization as he sees off the other kids stare at him with mouths agape, amazed at seeing little Patrick yelling and being anything but caring as they had thought him to be. He groans.

“Oh god. Jesus, no. Jason, don’t cry. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to yell at you. I was only a bit upset and—” In that moment Patrick’s cell phone rings and he sighs, not sure if he should be grateful to be distracted just before Jason breaks down crying, “Hello?”

 _“Patrick!”_ A shrill voice responds and Patrick winces, not in the mood to deal with even more screams. He would get annoyed, and he was about to, until he recognized the voice and its tone.

“Pete? What’s up?” Patrick asks, and his confused expression is registered by many pair of eyes. He waves his hand in Alicia’s direction, indicating that she’s in charge now that she’s twelve. She nods and grins before giving him an affirmation with both her thumbs up. Patrick was prepared for anything to happen if he had to leave, “Wait up.”

He exits the room, and goes upstairs into the guest room where his stuff is. Once his door is closed and the shouts could barely be heard, he sits on his bed. Before he could respond, he registers the wails, and  pauses.

 _“Patrick!”_ Comes Pete’s voice again, barely understandable between the sniffs and cries, _“I’m so sorry! Please help me, Patrick, please!”_

There’s a pause, but it’s occasionally broken by the sobs that clearly escape the other’s lips, however desperately they are held back.

“Pete,” Patrick says as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes in a weak attempt to keep calm, “What happened or what did you do?”

_“I just wanted it to end.”_

The line goes dead, and Patrick is left with the shrill beep of the phone. It only takes him half a second to search through his contacts and immediately press call as he sees the five lettered name, glinting with a smiley face at the end that Pete had added.

He responds on the third ring, and Patrick stops his insistent tapping on his knee.

 _“Uh, hello? Patrick?”_ Mikey’s confusion is obvious, considering that when Pete gave each other’s phone numbers to one another, they never thought they’d use them. It’s nothing too personal, really. They just don’t seem to like each other very well, though Mikey has a reason while Patrick chooses to dislike Mikey because of the sad way Pete mentions his name.

“Mikey, are you with Pete?” He asks, and is surprised when his own voice cracks. He hadn’t noticed the hot tears streaming down his face, blurring his view of the closed doorway.

_“Patrick? What’s wrong?”_

“Check on Pete, Mikey!” Patrick yells, and furiously wipes his cheeks.

_“Wh—”_

**“Do it!”**

The line goes dead as well, and Patrick sighs in relief, deciding that Mikey did indeed start to understand the significance of the situation.

Patrick slowly puts his phone down and leans on his bed before curling into himself, closing his eyes, and trying to ignore the way his tears burn marks into his skin. He is given a slight feeling of relief, knowing that these types of situations always end up being a misunderstanding and he sighs. It will be the same thing with this.

Jesus, Pete. What did you do now?

Patrick slight relief is quickly replaced with fright and misery as Mikey calls back exactly two hours later, delivering those two words. Those two, terrible words.

 

-

 

_'"He's dead."_

 

-

 

When Mrs. Barakat is awoken by the sound of her alarm, and after quickly washes herself to dress, she hears no noise in the small house. It’s time for her to go to a council meeting, and her husband has already left to work as he normally does. In full knowledge that her son only has three days left of summer vacation, she doesn’t find it odd to descend from the stairs to see him lazily scroll down on his laptop, on the couch and a thin blanket over his feet.

“Hello, honey. How long have you been up and on the internet?” She asks on her way to the kitchen. Jack shrugs with one shoulder.

“Don’t know. Not long.” He replies offhandedly, and they both know it’s a lie. ‘Not long’ does not exist, and is used as an excuse to be on the device for longer.

“Where’s Alex?”

Jack’s eyes snap up and they meet hers. She sees something move in them and he stares her down, almost in challenge. It is typical of Jack to even challenge with a simple gaze his mother, but there seems to be something behind them.

“Why? Should he be here? Why would you think he’s here?”

Her eyebrows knit together, and she glances at the laptop. Seeing that Alex is nowhere to be seen in the house, she feels confused. Once getting used to having Jack sneak his best friend into their house at all hours, she could not imagine a summer morning where she would not find Alex making her coffee like a second son (or Jack spending his time with Alex the next morning, leaving early, of course).

“I was just asking, Jack. I didn’t mean anything by it… Is there something I should know?” She questions gently, and raises one perfect eyebrow. Jack responds by snapping his eyes back to the screen.

“No.” He mumbles, and Mrs. Barakat smiles at the requirement of certainty in his words. She nods and continues her way back out the kitchen, towards the closet where all her classy coats are kept. As she passes Jack, she pauses, and turns back around to stand behind her son, who is too engulfed in what he’s doing to take any notice in her.

“Jack, is there a particular reason why you’re staring at a picture of Alex from last summer?” She asks.

Jack quickly moves his hand out from behind his head and snaps the laptop closed, missing his fingers from his other hand by a fraction of a second. He doesn’t turn around, but Mrs. Barakat can see the way his ears turn a dark shade of pink.

“What!? No!”

Jack closes his eyes and waits until he hears the slight noise of the front door closing, before opening his eyes and his laptop again, staring at himself of a year ago, shirtless and soaking wet aside of a grinning Alex. He shakes his head and closes the laptop again before setting it aside. It doesn’t matter. Their friendship is ruined anyway; a simple kiss wasn’t going to make everything better.

 

-

 

“Wake up call, Ryan,” An annoying voice says, and Ryan’s sheets are ripped away as the dry voice continues, “There’s only two days left of summer, and if I don’t make you get up now, you’ll blame me back in school because you didn’t want to do anything.”

Ryan groans and flips his middle finger in the direction he hopes is of Spencer’s voice. The laugh he receives in return doesn’t clear anything out but neither does the freezing cold water he feels being poured on his head.

“What the fuck, Smith?!” He screams, and glares at the blurry figure at the foot of his head before rubbing his eyes from all the sleepiness and water. When he gets to see clearly again, he spots Spencer smiling smugly.

Chucking his pillow towards the other (and missing by about a foot), he throws his feet off the side of the bed and struggles to feel his legs, rubbing them softly to get the circulation going. Spencer sighs as he leans against the doorway and doesn’t look amused, or pleased for that matter.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of being enlightened with your presence?” Ryan asks sarcastically, not even looking up to face the haughty look of his best friend.

“You mean, why I am here in your room so early? You know, because this is my house?”

Ryan sends him a glare and stands up, his hair in messy halo around his head and his eyes weary. Spencer watches as he fumbles with his slippers and sighs, wondering when Ryan became so damn lazy and, oh wait, he’s always been like this.

“Yes, what are you doing in my room? It’s summer, in case you’ve forgotten. And, you know, sleep.” Ryan says, obviously annoyed judging by his stance and his tone. Spencer, of course, is unaffected. It’s because of this reason that he throws Ryan his pillow back and hits him on the head, causing the older boy to fall back on his bed on his back and blink a couple times, groaning.

“We’re going out, put on some proper clothes. I’ve wanted to see that one movie for a while now.”

“I thought you hated going to the movies.”

Spencer shoots him a look and turns around to leave. He doesn’t respond, and Ryan doesn’t dwell on the thought, deciding that if Spencer’s perspective changed on movie theaters then it won’t be long before he discovers the reason.

He stands up and quickly changes after taking a refreshing shower. Even after purposely taking it to himself to use colder water than usual, he feels like his mind’s still in a haze. He is unable to think properly, and doesn’t realize he’s giving into going somewhere instead of routinely arguing with Spencer over what he gets to do in summer vacation, since it’s supposed to be his time.

Ryan still doesn’t ask Spencer about his sudden change of heart, and instead focuses on forcing his eyelids to stay open. And he ignores how his gaze turns unfocused on lack of sleep. Spencer doesn’t make any comment about how Ryan has obviously had trouble sleeping, and they sit in the bus in silence, neither saying a single word.

Until Ryan starts asking casual questions and making conversation, and Spencer appears a bit on edge as he responds. It seems that Ryan is asking all the improper questions (which actually are appropriate, considering it was replies he wanted) and soon Ryan is staring at Spencer blankly, figuring out exactly why they’re going to see a horror movie Spencer never showed any interest into (“All horror movies suck nowadays.”), unlike how he has stated before (“I’ve wanted to see that one movie for a while now.”).

“You managed to get a date with Jon?”

Spencer coughs, and a couple people turn to stare at him, considering Spencer can’t fake absolutely anything if it were to save his existence. Ryan stares him down with an impassive expression and takes notice of Spencer’s now crimson cheeks, though his eyes barely budge so Spencer doesn’t know of exactly how much Ryan has deduced from the current situation. Ryan is no longer drowsy, instead amusement has taken its place.

Spencer doesn’t respond, since he realizes with Ryan being the one to ask him such things (no longer heavy minded and sleepy), it won’t be long before Ryan realizes more than what Spencer is willing to tell.

That is, until Spencer finally shows him to the theater and Ryan asks the right questions.

“How did you manage to set a date with Walker if you only talked to him once, and he barely knew of your existence?”

“Am I supposed to be fine with the idea of being the third wheel with two aficionados?”

“Has Jon even noticed that you’re far bitchier with friends than strangers?”

Spencer spares him a glance as they walk into the mall, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and Ryan stares at him, his brown eyes waiting for a response. Spencer slows down the closer they get to the theater, no longer seeming eager to arrive.

“I may have had some help from Brendon.”

Ryan stares at him for a long moment, and he notices how they have both stopped walking to look intently at each other. It’s not long before Spencer sees realization flash into Ryan’s eyes, and it’s soon covered with anger.

You see, it’s a bit difficult to manage to get Ryan angry, although far too easy to get him annoyed. There are levels of irritation, until the exasperation turns into the last level which provokes frustration, and then the fury. It is not easy, however, to get Ryan livid while skipping the other levels of anger.

Spencer seems to be the only person (along with Mr. Ross) to know how.

“When will you understand, Spencer, that I am in no need to meet someone as troublesome and childish like that idiot!” He yells, and Spencer doesn’t change his expression, “You’re a fool if you think that I’d change my mind just so your little friend feels no rejection. Believe it or not, Spencer, sometimes people have to get used to it.”

Spencer doesn’t stop Ryan as he moves to leave, infuriated at how Spencer doesn’t seem to get the point through and think that by forcing him to go see a movie as ‘friends’ he’d be doing them good, when, really, Spencer is just giving Urie false hope. Ryan snorts. As if he’d ever go out with someone as Urie, after all, Ryan’s completely and utterly straight.

“Oh, shit. Sorry!”

Ryan runs into someone and he looks up to glare at the figure, only to see regretful dark brown eyes stare back, and Ryan pauses with his words, suddenly forgetting about his plan to make a quick escape from Spencer’s evil set-up.

“No problem.” He replies; the boy smiles slightly, seeming to be no more than a year younger. Ryan is mesmerized.

“Uh, hi. I’m so sorry and—” The boy cuts himself off, staring at Ryan with his wide brown eyes that are surrounded by long bangs. He bites his bottom lip subconsciously and Ryan quickly follows the movement, too quick to have anyone notice, “I just—” He stops again, and stares at Ryan. Ryan wonders what he’s about to say (why he has anything to say, considering they have just met), and watches as the boy quickly turns away after giving Ryan a shy, sad smile and a wave.

Ryan blinks and furrows his eyebrows. Shaking his head, he continues on his way, wondering what just happened.

 

-

 

Andy cautiously walks through the halls of his new house, not yet familiar with these walls. He still hasn’t had a proper conversation with his parents over what happened to provoke this drastic change. They’ve been super secretive lately, and he only pretends that he doesn’t notice their soundless conversations and whispers.

He has his own room now; the only room on the second floor. His parents have taken the only room on the first floor, nearby the dining room, kitchen and living room. He is left with the silence of the house as his parents spend their time out in the new town Andy hasn’t had time to explore. The first time his mother talks to him after two days, she tells him he starts school the next day.

“Summer is over, Andrew,” She explains to him with a soft smile, “And we can’t afford to have you miss school as we settle.”

Andy frowns and sits up from his place on the floor; he slowly elevates himself to his knees and then his feet, until he just barely towers over Mrs. Biersack. He doesn’t respond for a long moment, and she start to worry about her son’s reaction, expecting him to be predictable and indifferent, to ask no questions. It should have gone that way. Andy has never been one to ask, but to discover it on his own. People think he brushes the subject off, when really; he’s just investigating under the sheets.

“Mom, you can’t expect me to go to school like this,” He moves his blue eyes to glare at his room, bare, “We don’t even have any furniture, mom! No refrigerator, no stove, and no food besides from town. Do we even have money?”

She stares at him and backs away, her hand still managing to rest on his face and caress his cheek with her thumb, soft slow strokes. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stay put. He knows that showing his mother his lack of interest in her weakest attempts to soothe him will only make the circumstances worse.

“Don’t worry too much, Andy. We’re fine and soon you’ll settle well here. Your father and I are working on buying what we need. Money is not our main problem.”

Andy gives her a curt nod, turning around, and silently turning his back to her, walking back to his corner where his blankets are on the floor (his expectantly temporary bed), and with his head high he plops down, stares at her. She sighs and leaves. Andy runs a hand through his hair, mumbling to himself.

“Then tell me, mother, what exactly **is** our main problem?”

 

-

 

“Well,” Jon sighs from his place on the counter, “There’s a reason they’re friends.”

Brendon snaps his head to him and narrows his eyes. Jon raises his eyebrows at the reaction of his best friend. The mindless action is barely visible from the top rim of his mug. Brendon doesn’t back down, instead stands up and saunters over to his cabinet, takes out the lucky charms and begins eating it in handfuls with his hands.

“Spencer isn’t like Ryan.” Brendon argues, his statement obviously believable coming from the one stuffing his face with the junk food.

“I never said he was.”

“You accused him of leaving you at the theaters, and you asked him out! Big deal, he just wanted to be with Ryan,” Brendon walks over back to his place and dumps himself down on the beanbag Jon had brought down to the kitchen just for his friend.

Jon shrugs and doesn’t comment on the subject any longer, refusing to criticize Spencer while not knowing his motives of backing out of the movie they were going to see with Brendon (and oddly Ryan) when Spencer was already there. Jon tries not to dwell on it. The movie didn’t look so great either way. He doesn’t acknowledge the ‘you asked him out’ part either.

“So, Brendon,” Jon starts, and Brendon looks up with his dark brown eyes, wide with innocence and cheeks full while chewing, “You said you ran into Ryan when you arrived at the mall?”

Brendon pauses, and his eyes turn impossibly wider. Jon waits and he slips off his counter to make himself some frozen garlic bread. Not the healthiest of foods, but that’s all he’s willing to heat up right now.

“I ran into him.”

Jon glances at him over his shoulder, and grins when he sees Brendon’s face blush. Though he doesn’t approve of Brendon’s choice of people (if it should even be phrased like that, since the only person who has ever caught Brendon’s attention, for some reason, has been Ross), he has no choice but to accept it and hope that Brendon changes his mind (he has been hoping for about nine years). Brendon’s dedication towards people is inspiring, if not risky. Ryan has managed to break Brendon’s heart twice in a couple days.

“I suppose you literally ran into him.”

Brendon’s cheeks flare again and he nods, staring at his hands as they play with a small marshmallow, “He said it was no problem… and I ran away. I was going to ask him why he was leaving until I remembered he hated me and then I was going to apologize for not leaving him alone,” Brendon averts his eyes and stares at the doorway, “I waved and ran away. I think he smiled.”

Jon sighs and shakes his head when Brendon looks back at him, all of the sudden smiles and laughs again. No matter what Ryan does, he’s always being forgiven by the younger boy. This Ross kid he met at Starbucks for the first time has no idea what he’s losing.

 

-

 

Gabe glances at his cell phone, noticing that he has no voice messages, missed calls or texts. He shrugs and rolls onto his side, wrapping his sheets around him as he lies naked in his bed, having no body heat anymore. William hasn’t called or shown any sign of discomfort. Gabe smirks and closes his eyes, drifting easily into sleep. School starts tomorrow and he has nothing to worry about. He’ll see William tomorrow and it won’t be Gabe who’ll be running into William’s arms in desperation.

 

-

 

Gerard stares blankly at his wall. It seems to have turned into his hobby, really. Not really thinking, just trying to disappear. No, he doesn’t have to think or talk.

Mikey doesn’t deserve this. He’s a good kid. Mikey gets good grades; he’s reserved but sarcastic and couldn’t care less about his reputation. And even like, that he has a good one. People like him. He’s smart and incredibly patient. Though he isn’t one for faith, he never lost hope in Gerard, until Gerard let him down for one last time, of course.

Mikey has practically lost his older brother, whom he has looked up to all his life and now he’s lost his best friend.

What did Mikey do to deserve this?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Gerard is convinced that there is no God, and if by chance there is, he is no almighty being. He is a fraud. He couldn’t even keep Pete alive. What kind of man does he call himself to be? Does he possess that power, but likes to laugh and feed off people’s grief?

Mikey’s become even skinnier. He refuses to eat, and he barely comes out his room. Once Gerard risked cracking Mikey’s bedroom door open to check how he was coping, only to find him on the floor with all his limbs spread out and motionless. Painfully close to what Gerard has been doing, and that troubles the older Way brother.

“Leave.” Gerard did as he was told. At moments like these Mikey would only want to be alone, and it’s understandable that he doesn’t want to be to be close to the first person that let him down.

_“Gerard! You’re going to be late!”_

Gerard snaps out of his thoughts and quickly grabs his jacket, pulling it on. He goes downstairs, and barely recalls any memory of saying goodbye, or leaving the house. He just snaps into reality and stares straight ahead, where his high school stands. After so much time away –the weeks of summer vacation which have extended into long periods because of Gerard’s dread of seeing his family- from the gossiping teenagers that now stand around, greeting each other in different ways, he almost missed it. He looks aside of himself and reminds himself that today, he’s come alone.

 

-

 

“Racin’ off the tracks as he yells for help,” Jaime’s annoying singing voice fills the car, and its silence is penetrated by him, his eyes still on the road as he drives, “The room’s full of ducks, go find the belt!”

It’s the first morning Mike has woken up early in a long time, since the last school day of last school year, and the last thing he wants is to have the most annoying of the three friends make up a foolish song and sing it at seven fifteen in the morning, when all he wants to do is lean his cheek against the old window and sleep, even though he’d barely have time to close his eyes before they arrive. Why they drive to school is beyond him.

“Jaime, shut. The fuck. Up.” Mike grits out, his eyes lazily glaring at him through the review mirror. Jaime appears hurt and pulls onto the road of the school.

“Vic doesn’t get annoyed when I sing. He loves my voice.” He argues, his invalid point making Mike snort.

“Vic doesn’t really count right now.”

Jaime pulls into the parking lot, glances at Vic once they are safely parked under a tree, saving it from the sunlight that will surely heat up the car later on. Vic appears to be in deep sleep, his elbow on the window sill, and his cheek resting on his palm. Even in his sleep his expression seems troubled, but it’s nice to see him resting for once, even if for just a few minutes more. Neither Mike nor Jaime have the heart to wake him up before time, even if it means Vic will be a few minutes late to class.

Mike and Jaime remain silent, the humor from before fading away. They both stare at Vic’s sleeping form, they don’t get out of the car and ignore the vivid noise coming from outside of many teenagers animatedly chatting.

“Has he been working extra shifts again?”

Jaime’s question is meaningless, since he knows the answer. Mike responds either way, and he shakes his head in frustration, “Of course he has. Sawyer keeps demanding for money and he won’t pay for any food. Vic has to do it and now that we’re back in school I wouldn’t be surprised if he still took the liberty of working until three am on a school night.”

Jaime frowns, and his forehead creases with discomfort. He never turns away from Vic’s figure. Mike notices, and knows that Jaime is as concerned for his friend as Mike is for his brother. Jaime knows, after all, of who Sawyer is and what he does.

“Nothing,” Jaime had stated when Mike told him, “That’s the problem. The bastard does nothing and Vic now thinks it’s his responsibility to make everyone happy.”

This time, though, Jaime slowly turns his head to Mike and there’s nothing but distress in his brown eyes that Mike has known since elementary school, since before the accident that caused their lack of parental guidance. “Make sure he makes it through, Mike. Vic has too much future in him. He deserves better than this.”

Mike nods. He knows he just made a pledge which Jaime can’t do himself for reasons. Mike intends to complete this promise.

 

-

 

“You don’t have to go, Patrick.”

He’s been hearing these words for the last day and a half. He’s growing weary of it, and even feels like smacking someone but he knows this will be the last time, seeing as he’s going to make his point clear.

“I’m going, mom. Please drop it.”

She nods, and he doesn’t say a word more, leaving for school. The flash of a toothy grin and an annoying call manages to veer him off the sidewalk until he realizes where he is and keeps on walking. There’s not much to say about his way to school, really. He has no idea why he’s going in the first place. Mikey surely isn’t going, but that’s because he’s known Pete for much longer.

It doesn’t matter; he knows the last thing Pete would want is to ruin someone else’s life. Patrick’s going to school. He’s going to live a life and have at least a few hours of normality. It’ll be hard, considering about half the school has probably already heard of the teenage death. It doesn’t matter.

As he nears the school he sighs.

 

-

 

“I don’t want to go.” Alex whines, and his father rolls his eyes, shoving him into the car. He doesn’t say a word as he starts the car and holds onto the collar of Alex’s shirt after Alex tries to escape, driving with one hand.

“How about to see Jack?” He asks, and he expects to see Alex perk up right away. Alex only looks more sullen.

“No.”

Mr. Gaskarth nearly swerves off the road in shock.

 

-

 

School starts, and there’s nothing that could possibly go wrong.


End file.
